


Teapots Like Us

by eclecticbass



Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: Death penalty, Hypothermia, M/M, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-10-14 10:41:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20599409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eclecticbass/pseuds/eclecticbass
Summary: A compilation of anecdotes from their shared adolescence.A sister fic and prequel to We All Fall Down (https://archiveofourown.org/works/16469765/chapters/38571095).





	1. Earl Grey

##### Black tea with bergamot oil, popular in the United Kingdom, and named after a former British prime minister.

***

It was dark, and the Atlasdam library had been closed for hours. A chain wrapped around the handles of the heavy wooden doors and secured with a lock ensured no one entered while the librarian was not present.

But evidently, Therion smugly thought, they hadn't thought to secure the windows.

They were closed, certainly, but not barred or locked. The lever intended to open them was inside, but with a fair bit of prying and a few tools pulled from a pocket in his cloak, it creaked gradually open. He could smell dust and old parchment inside.

He reached in and moved the lever to ensure it stayed that way, then held onto Darius' neck, swung his legs off his shoulders, and jumped down to the rough stone road below.

"Satisfied?" Therion muttered, brushing the dirt from his hands onto his pants.

"Ha! I'll be satisfied when we're sellin' those tomes in Wellspring's black market. Ready to go in?" He readied his hands for Therion to step into, prepared to boost him up towards the open window.

"Wait," Therion hesitated, earning a scowl and a pair of crossed arms. "How will I know I'm taking the right ones? There's hundreds in there, and we can't be making off with all of them."

"You're a bloomin' idiot, ain't ye? You'll read the damned titles is what you'll do." Glancing sideways to see his young partner, Darius received not much more than a blank, neutral expression.

"Will I?" Therion commented, fixing his gaze on a particularly uninteresting brick in the library wall. "Interesting. Didn't realize I'd be able to learn to read within a night, or I'd have done it sooner."

Darius groaned, put his thumbs in his pockets, and started to walk away. "Well, fuck me. Ye ain't strong enough to get me in there, so."

Silent for a few moments, Therion opted not to remark that _obviously_ he'd never had the coin to hire a tutor, nor made it a high priority. They were thieves, the scum of the streets, and the topic had never even come up since he'd met his partner in crime. But such a comment would anger Darius past the point of just storming away, and something else interested him far more.

"Since when can _you_ read?" he muttered, barely within Darius' hearing distance.

He didn't expect much of a response. Darius was far more likely to snap at him for saying anything about it, or likelier still, to say nothing at all. But this time, his assumptions proved wrong.

"Fuck if I know since when, but a while. Since afore me father died."

He'd mentioned it before, Therion distantly remembered, but it must have only been once or twice. His father had been the Lord of Northreach, long ago.

So Darius claimed, at any rate. Therion had long assumed it was a lie, fabricated as a reason that he was superior and deserved to command respect. But it would make sense that he would have learned to read as a child, were it true.

"Next you'll be telling me you know how to write, too."

"Been a while," Darius said, "but sure. What's it to ye?"

Therion shrugged. "I'm not so much of an idiot that I couldn't match the titles if you wrote 'em down for me."

He scoffed. "You are enough of an idiot that ye wouldn't remember what they look like if I scrawled 'em in the dirt."

"Fine," Therion relented, supposing he might not be able to replicate the correct order of symbols by memory. "Then don't write it in the dirt, write it on something I can bring inside. Charcoal would probably stay on my arm long enough."

"Where in the hells are ye thinking to set a fire, mate?"

Narrowing his eyes, Therion leaned back against the brick wall to think. "Innkeep's bound to have a pen and ink well. Maybe some paper, so "GUILTY" won't be tattooed all over my arms."

"Fair," Darius chuckled affectionately. "Much as I think it'd suit ye, ye filthy criminal."

It wasn't difficult to look like travelers simply trying to find out if they would be able to stay the night. They entered the lobby, found no one at the front desk, and left within minutes. That they borrowed the writing supplies therein made little difference. The slip of parchment in his cloak was thin enough not even to be noticeable if one was looking for it.

It was interesting, though, to watch Darius write. It was clear he hadn't done so for quite some time, by his unnatural grip of the pen and the rough, childlike letters he produced. Though Therion could not claim to know with certainty, he suspected Darius recalled incorrectly how to write certain words, just by the difficulty with which he spelled them out.

It was captivating to watch him struggle with something. He was always so certain in his own abilities, even when the results were less than ideal. He could easily fill a blank tome with excuses to have Therion take his place when he doubted himself.

Or maybe, Therion amusedly thought, he might have trouble writing enough of anything to fill any kind of book.

He studied the paper as they returned to the library, trying to piece together what the letters Darius scrawled upon it would look like embroidered into the spine of an aristocrat's textbook. Very different, he quickly realized. He had only ever seen intricate, looping calligraphy on such tomes. He would likely need to spend several minutes associating the letters between the two media.

But there was something else he noticed, staring at the paper as they walked, a glaring discrepancy between the writing and his own memory.

"I thought there were three valuable tomes we were after," he whispered, so no soul further away than Darius might hear. "Looks like four titles."

"Looks like ye remembered wrong," Darius said, almost defensively. Therion opted not to say anything further on the topic.

It wasn't long until Darius was helping him up to the windowsill, still open, just as they had left it. The detour hadn't taken long, so it was still the middle of the night, and they hadn't encountered anyone else awake. It did make Therion nervous that dawn would approach sooner than they expected, but his fears were tamed when he found it was so dark he needed to light candles to read the covers of the books.

He found three simultaneously, as they were stacked on top of one another and tucked behind the librarian's desk. Apparently Darius had heard they had been recently delivered from a shop in Rippletide, so it made sense they had yet to be separated. It was fortunate they hadn't been shelved in the locked room in the back of the library- though he might not be able to say the same of the fourth book, he realized.

Rather than scour the hundreds of titles to match the one he was looking for, he reached up to the window and dropped the three tomes down to Darius. "These weren't shelved yet, but the last one wasn't with them. Any idea where it might be?" he hissed.

"Eh, maybe…" Darius muttered. "Try the two shelves closest to the entrance."

It wasn't as though he had any better ideas, so he sorted through them, one by one. Many of the covers, he quickly realized, were illustrated, and the writing was larger and more simplistic than the others. Still, he found the last tome near the bottom of the shelf Darius suggested, and dropped it from the window as well.

"Are you sure that one's valuable?"

"Sure," Darius said, and Therion knew him well enough to suspect, without even seeing him, that he was lying. "Get back out here. Climb on a chair if ye have to."

It was a rough landing on the stone path below the window, and this time Darius did not try to assist him. But he landed in a crouch, taking some of the impact with his arms, and stood up, perfectly unscathed.

"Explain," Therion ordered, gesturing to the final book, which Darius set atop the stack.

Darius grinned, but looked away. "Thought a weak lil' teapot like yerself would have too much trouble reading _The Complete Works of Simeon Greyquill_, so I'm starting ye on one of the first books I remember reading."

"You're… what, really?" Therion stared dumbly at the stack of tomes under Darius' arm.

"Well," Darius scoffed, closing his eyes for a moment. "Unless you prefer starting with _Greyquill_. We did nab that one too."


	2. Rooibos

##### A sweet, earthy, non-caffeinated tea from South Africa.

***

"Darius," he finally wheezed, "can you slow down a bit?"

He'd been nearly silent for hours now, during long periods of walking through the ankle-deep fluffy blanket that rested upon the thick, icy snow packed beneath, but even during their brief periods of rest, when they melted the unforgiving frost into a cool elixir to drink. Darius had noticed how thirsty he seemed to be whenever they did so, but Therion was keeping up with him just fine.

"For now, I guess. Don't want it takin' too much longer te get to Northreach. Ain't nowhere to sleep out here, looks like, and we haven't even got to Stillsnow yet."

"I know," Therion muttered, his arms crossed under his cloak. It wasn't easy to tell in the wind and past his clothing, but Darius thought he was shivering. "Can't believe how cold it is. I mean, I know it's the middle of winter, in the middle of the Frostlands. But we would've done well to break and enter the tailor's after closing hours when we had the chance."

"Ha. Might just have te take ye up on that if we decide to stop in Stillsnow."

There was no doubt it was just as cold as Therion complained it was. Darius' pitiful excuses for boots were soaked through, and with their lack of gloves, his fingers felt like icicles in his pockets. He had begun wondering many hours ago whether the risk of frostbite was worth the wealth they might accrue in Northreach, but unlike his partner, he did so silently, keeping his pace consistent and his back straight. Therion's slouching and dragging his feet slowed both of them down, and accomplished nothing.

Still, it seemed Therion had wanted a break for some time now, and had barely found the courage to ask Darius to slow down a touch. He would allow it for a while, he figured.

They trudged down the path for a good while, and as the sun gradually descended, a deeper chill began to wrap around his spine. He attempted to warm his hands against his cheeks more often, and to less avail, as the skin of his face was no warmer than that of his hands. It was affecting Therion, too- though he didn't say anything further on the topic, he was shivering more noticeably and walking more and more slowly.

"Chin up, mate," Darius urged. "Still a few hours from Stillsnow, I reckon. Longer if ye ain't moving."

"I know," Therion muttered breathlessly. There was annoyance in his tone- but also a hint of desperation.

"Somethin' bothering ye?"

Therion looked away- as he had for the majority of the walk. "Do we have any food left?"

Darius frowned. "I can check. Nauseous?"

"A little," Therion admitted. "Out here it's more like… hazy. Can't tell how much time is passing. Everything looks the same covered in snow."

Without speaking a word, they both acknowledged it was time for a break, packed down a bit of snow, and sat cross-legged upon it. Upon rifling through his belongings, Darius found one-and-a-half buns, the remains of what they had taken from an unfortunate baker's window in Victor's Hollow. Therion's gaze flickered down to his lap, silently but bitterly accepting not only that there would be no breakfast the following day, but that Darius would, as usual, take the larger portion.

"They're frozen," Darius needlessly warned, dropping the full bun in Therion's lap. "But if we start a fire, we might toast 'em. Not ter mention warm ourselves up a touch."

Therion hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah. Definitely. Are you… not hungry?"

He shrugged. "I'm not about to pass out."

Sensing it was for the best not to question his partner's decision any further, Therion found a meager pack of matches in one of his pockets and followed Darius to the nearest evergreens they could see. They began sawing and hacking at the lower branches, placing the pieces they removed near the heart of the tree. They would have to get new daggers if they continued the practice much longer, Darius thought- it was dulling the blades noticeably.

Therion worked much more slowly than Darius, always holding tightly to the branches he did not intend to cut off, so it took longer than Darius hoped. Still, he held his tongue and carried the larger stack of branches to the most sheltered area they could see: beside a set of four evergreens that they hoped could shield them from the wind. Even in setting up the fire, Therion's contributions were few, and when Darius noticed his hands shaking when he took out the matches, he snatched them from his partner's hand.

"Ain't gonna let yer waste these."

Therion merely nodded, his gaze somewhere else.

As they sat by the fire, Darius decided it would be for the best not to walk any further that evening. Not only did he doubt Therion's ability to make it to Stillsnow, after the exertion of the day, he also doubted his own capacity to carry him so far. Therion was light- so was Darius, but on a good day, even he had little trouble lifting his partner.

His stomach growled, though, and he reached further toward the fire to warm the half-bun more quickly. He wouldn't be up for it, even if Stillsnow was closer than it was. He would have to reconsider in the morning.

He glanced to his partner. Therion was visibly sweating, and the effort of keeping his food near the fire was making his arm waver. It was hard to tell in the orange glow, but he was going as white as the snow.

"Hey," Darius cut through the silence. Therion's eyes shot up, finally focusing on something. "Come here."

He patted the ground beside him, and Therion hesitantly nodded, crawling around the fire to sit next to his partner. Darius lifted the side of his cloak and let it rest over Therion's shoulders, then put his free arm around him. Therion stared into the distance, unsure how to process Darius' actions for a few seconds.

Then he inched closer and rested his head against Darius' shoulder.

"I don't know what's wrong with ye," Darius muttered, "but you're gonna be alright. Swear on all the gold in Northreach."

Therion shifted. "You don't _have_ all the gold in Northreach."

Darius chuckled. "Yet."

***

The barkeep in Stillsnow grabbed a bottle of wine that had been sitting within his arm's reach to stop it from falling over. Glasses hanging from a rack above him clinked together.

"Sir," he forced out through clenched teeth and feigned patience. "I shall remind you this is a tavern, not an inn. We close at one in the morning. You cannot stay the night."

Darius slowly pulled his stinging fist away from the bar he'd nearly damaged. "Ye think I ain't already tried the inn? Or gone door ter door like some common beggar? I ain't askin' ye for much- just te ignore my partner sittin' by yer fireplace when ye lock up. I wouldn't even be here. Or, fuck, I'll give ye another option. Cough up enough cash for a night at the inn, and we're off your back. Plain 'n simple. Ye'd prefer if I didn't have te try to persuade ye."

The barkeep sighed and turned away, aggravating Darius further. "That would be a crime, good sir."

"Ha! By what generous hospitality I've yet seen, I'd wager even the gaol would turn us away." He leaned on the bar, but the barkeep merely continued to polish glasses dry and hang them on the rack.

"I'll have to ask you and your partner to leave the bar. I'm fully prepared to summon the town guard should you refuse."

Darius opened his mouth, prepared to retort, but heard his name from halfway across the room. Therion, wrapped in both his own cloak and Darius', sitting on the brick ledge with the fireplace at his back, tilted his head towards the door to exit the tavern. Darius' jaw slowly relaxed.

He was unsteady walking from the tavern, and though he didn't let Darius pick him up again, he did rest his back against the wall of the tavern from outside. He flinched when Darius slammed the door.

"Fuckin' bastard!" Darius growled. "Anyone can see ye ain't fit ter be sleepin' outside. If ye were, we wouldn't bloody be here." He kicked the neatly shoveled snow from against the tavern wall into the streets, spraying shards of ice in all directions.

Therion waited a bit before saying anything. "The fire, tea, and stew were nice. Think I'd like it if we were allowed back in there tomorrow."

Darius clenched his teeth and Therion prepared to be struck, but seconds later, Darius' arms fell to his sides and he exhaled deeply. "So what's your plan? Ain't seen any apothecary round here, and it'd be hard to break inter someone's house and not be seen for the whole night."

Therion opened his mouth to speak, then closed it, looked away, crossed his arms, and finally decided to speak. "You know how you were holding me last night to keep me warm? …That was kind of nice, too."

"Fuckin' emotional sap. One of your worst traits. Thought I'd taught ye to knock it off."

Therion shifted. "I know."

"If I had any other ideas, or if I thought ye'd survive without it, I'd probably tell ye ter fuck off."

It took Therion's muddled mind a few seconds to realize Darius had agreed. The edges of his lips curled up, ever so slightly. "I know that too."


	3. White Tea

##### Brewed from young tea leaves, primarily in China, producing a delicate taste that becomes bitter if steeped too long.

***

Therion had darted left into an alley about ten seconds before Darius reached it. The elder thief continued straight, not so much as glancing towards the alley to ensure Therion was out of sight. The slightest gesture might give the guards the idea to look in that direction, and he could not have them catch Therion- not while he was carrying tens of thousands of leaves' worth of gems. They had already agreed to use one of their more common strategies: to have Therion proceed as quickly as possible out of sight, to have Darius divert the guards and be caught, and to wait for Therion to break him out of gaol before daybreak. Much as Darius resented it, he could not avoid the fact that Therion was faster on foot and more subtle with lockpicks. The strategy worked- that was proof enough.

His shoes grated against the gravel as he tore a sharp right, far past the alley he'd seen Therion vanish into. He didn't know what path, exactly, Therion intended to take, but wanted to end up as far from him as he could. That, too, was part of the strategy: if he was questioned, he could never spill where Therion was keeping the loot. Even he did not know until much later.

The muscles in his legs were burning, and he could not drink in enough air as he sprinted. Just slightly, he slowed down. The guards were far behind him anyway. It was reasonable to assume they'd seen him turn, but their armour slowed them enough that sometimes Darius opted to evade them entirely.

He continued straight long enough that they'd be able to spot him and follow his path, listening for the pounding of footsteps and clinking of chain mail. They could almost match his speed now. He glanced left and right down every path, eventually heading left so they would not think he was trying to make it easy for them. Riverford's layout was straightforward enough, with paths leading in all four cardinal directions with rare exceptions. There wasn't much reason not to divert his path.

He was caught minutes later, just as he intended. Several guards surrounded him, preventing further escape and tying his hands behind his back. Someone patted him down, looking through his pockets- fortunately, he and Therion had had the foresight to empty them beforehand. Darius was out of breath, silent, his eyes darting about each of the guards, trying to discern who held the key to his handcuffs, or to the cell to which they would no doubt take him.

"Where is your accomplice?" one guard asked.

Darius shrugged. The handcuffs were tight enough behind him that it strained his shoulders a bit. One of the other guards unexpectedly shoved Darius from behind, and it took some strength to land on his knees rather than topple forward without his hands to catch him.

"I said, where is he?” Someone grabbed his hair and tilted his head back to look up at the guard. “You don’t appear to have the gems, so I must conclude your accomplice has them.”

"I don't know. An' if I did, why in the hells would I tell ye? Ain’t it _your_ job ter be lookin’ for him, and mine ter keep ye guessing?” A sarcastic grin crossed his cheeks. “Fuck, stalling with me might be givin’ him a nice opportunity to get away. Kind of stopped lookin’ for ‘im, ain’t ye?”

The guard before him glared at one of the others, and watched him dart off in the direction Darius had been heading. “You might want to rethink your attitude. Cooperation would result in a reduced sentence for each of you. Tell us where to find him- and, more importantly, where to find the gems you stole, if they are not in his location- and each of you will serve five years."

"Ye've got ter be kidding me,” Darius scoffed. “Five years, for a couple tiddly trinkets? I s'pose if I don't tell ye, it'll be ten? Eight apiece? Ha- ye gonna torture it out of me?”

"You and your accomplice have broken into the estate of Lord Werner, and stolen jewels worth far more than either of your lives. I'm afraid if they cannot be retrieved, you will both serve the death sentence."

***

He'd stayed up all night. The cell, much like others he had stayed in, was small, cold, and filthy, and they hadn't even done him the service of unlocking his cuffs, so his arms were aching. Therion usually waited for two or three hours after the last rays of sunset before showing up to execute his plan, but it was morning, and there had been no sign of him.

The sunlight made his eyes hurt, after forcing his eyes open for so long. He could only see it through a small, barred window in the corner of the cell, but he wasn't a fan.

A sound caught his attention: ceramic against stone. One of the guards had pushed some questionably edible breakfast through the door to his cell. It had been a while since Darius had eaten, but he wasn't sure if he was desperate enough to eat it.

"Slept well?" the guard asked, no sign of sympathy in his voice. Darius didn't reply. "Best eat something. You might not get another chance."

"What?"

"You're going to be burnt at the stake early this afternoon, unless you change your mind and tell us what we want to know."

Darius scoffed, turning away from him. "Ain't gonna let me last meal be this one."

In his periphery, he saw the guard shrug and decide to go elsewhere. But he realized there was one more thing he needed to know.

"Wait," he muttered, not knowing if anyone would listen. Maybe it would have been better not to sound so dismissive. "Ye gotta tell me something. Did ye already lock up me partner? Short lil' guy, with dark skin and white hair, even less talkative than me?"

A few seconds passed, and he wasn't sure if the guard had already left or not. "If we had him, what purpose would we have for asking you where he was?"

Darius laughed sadly, and shrugged his shoulders, partly just wanting to stretch them. "'Cause why in the hells would ye tell a pitiful teapot like meself what's going on?"

"I don't know," the guard said, "and likely not all my colleagues would. But we don't have him."

The guard's footsteps, slow but confident, became quieter and quieter. Sitting on the corner of his uncomfortable cot, Darius stared into a corner of the room, and felt a chill run down his back, then tears run down his cheeks. They hadn’t caught him. Therion was safe, the Gods only knew where.

That was what he was afraid of.

***

There was a crowd in the main square, and a pile of wood and kindling in the centre. The stake in the centre was steel, and there were ropes hanging nearby. At least he could hope for a spark to light the cords around his wrists. But with the number of guards that had escorted him there, dragging him backwards by a chain hooked through his handcuffs, he did not expect much to come of that strategy.

He scanned the crowd, some part of him wondering if he would see that familiar white hair and purple scarf. Maybe Therion’s plan involved waiting until he was physically outside the gaol. But he didn’t see him, and deeper down, knew it was a foolish hope. Therion was gone, the jewels with him. Likely he’d found out about the new government of Riverford, and their policy on theft, and quit town as soon as he could. They'd broken into the mansion of a tyrant who executed petty criminals. He was protecting himself.

He was also leaving Darius to die.

Someone pulled the chain attached to his handcuffs, and Darius stumbled backwards, approaching the stake. Several of the logs were arranged in a sort of staircase to the centre of the pyre. Knowing quite well what he was expected to do, he ascended. One of the guards followed him.

Darius shook the cuffs behind his back. "Gonna let me stretch before ye tie me ter the pole?"

The guard chuckled. "Don't count on it."

How easy it would be, he thought as two held his arms tightly, if Therion was hiding in an alley behind him, to escape. Therion might simply steal whatever matches were hiding in each guard's pockets- he was inhumanly good at figuring out by their demeanour what possessions people were likely to have. He might slice through the ropes binding him to the pole, or set a fire elsewhere to distract the guards. He might even have obtained the keys to Darius' handcuffs, and taken him away from the guards before they took him to the stake. They hadn't bound his legs. He could still run, perhaps not as fast as his partner, but indeed faster than the armoured guards.

But he'd done no such thing, and so Darius did not even struggle as they shoved him against the pole and tied his abdomen, wrists, and even neck. They cursed his long hair as they tied him up, and let it be caught in the binds. Both would burn off in time, after all.

They then doused him in alcohol. The guard whose job it was appeared to take the task seriously, solemnly pouring it over the wood and Darius' clothes, but the crowd roared with none of the same dignity. It dripped down his hair onto his face, and he licked the droplets, realizing he'd had nothing to drink for some time. His clothes now stuck to him, making him shiver- but he would not feel cold for long.

He knew once the guards had stepped back that it was time for the real show.

Flames leapt from the ethanol more quickly than he expected, dancing up his clothing and leaping from one flammable surface to the next. Darius closed his eyes, enduring the burns. He would not hiss, or scream, or cry for mercy, or admit a damn thing. If they were going to kill him anyway, he would not give them the pleasure.

It was hard to hold his tongue, though, when his hair caught flame, and the rope around his neck began to burn slowly through. He was nearly choking already, and the fire licking the back of his neck and the facial hair under his chin, and burning a circle round his throat, was intolerable at best.

He didn't even hear the footsteps pounding against the stone ground over the roar of flames, but he did hear the deafening screech of steel on steel as a blade ripped through the ropes binding him to the stake. He didn't see who it was, but he could guess.

He didn't look back to his savior, or to the burning ropes still clinging to him, or to the guards who'd obviously witnessed what had happened. He ran, his clothes and hair still afire, shoving through the crowd (a feat less difficult than he'd expected, given that none of them wished to be on fire) towards… well, anywhere else.

***

They ran for nearly twenty minutes, slowing only once after the five-minute mark so Darius could roll to extinguish the remaining flames. His clothing was nearly completely gone, his skin thoroughly burnt, and his hair short, with patches missing. His shoulders and wrists ached, his throat felt nearly as burnt as the rest of him, his right hand was bleeding where Therion's knife had sliced it with the intent of cutting through the rope, and he didn't think he could walk another step, never mind continue sprinting.

"We can't stay here long," Therion rasped. "Even if we don't see them coming any time soon, we shouldn't be anywhere near Riverford."

Darius sucked in another breath, feeling as though he could neither breathe nor speak. He coughed, still tasting alcohol and smoke.

"I know," Therion muttered. "You're the last person who needs to be told." Darius nodded, and Therion smirked, knowing he'd read his partner correctly. He finished wrapping some torn clothing around Darius' hand to stem the bleeding. "How are you doing? We're getting you to an apothecary as soon as possible. I can't believe they would do this to you."

"What don't ye believe? _You_ did this to me," Darius spat.

"I- what? I got you out of it. I wasn't even there. I didn't even know. I didn't stop running for a moment once I heard. I might have been a little imprecise, I'll admit that," Therion muttered, incredulous, "but you're alive and not on fire, aren't you?"

"You _didn't_ get me out of it. I fuckin' look like a sausage splitting open over a campfire- my hair's burnt off-" he coughed- "I can't breathe, Therion. Ye told me ye were going to get me out last night, and ye didn't." He ran one dirty hand through the remains of his hair, and hissed at the touch. "Besides, if the burns are bad enough, or get infected, I'm a dead man anyway. If anything, I'm suffering longer."

Taken aback, Therion did not respond for a few seconds. "I'm really sorry, but-"

"You're sorry? You left me to die, but at least you're fuckin' sorry about it!" Darius snapped.

Once again, Therion contemplated his words before saying them. "Yeah. I'm sorry. I did everything I could, and I couldn't save you, and I'm sorry. But listen. You have about two minutes to decide if you're gonna stick with me a while longer or wait for the guards to come find you. So I hate to rush you into forgiveness, but…"

"I'm coming," Darius growled, adjusting the makeshift bandage Therion had tied onto his hand. It was nearly soaked through already. "Think I can tolerate ye a little easier than I can tolerate bein' _applewood smoked_."

"Good," Therion laughed, standing up and sheathing the knife with which he'd cut the material from his cloak. "Ready? I wish I had water to offer you. But we should get to a river soon."

"Don't imagine I'll be any more ready within a minute and a half," Darius muttered. "Let's go."

They didn't see the guards again, and eventually disappeared into a forest far off the beaten path. They could cut through to Saintsbridge rather than taking the obvious route to Orewell. They would be safe, to a degree.

But he could no longer trust Therion. For so long, they had relied upon each other, placing their lives in each other's hands. It had come too close. All the bonds they'd formed over several years, through blood, steel, and starvation, had weakened all at once, and Therion hadn't even noticed.

Given the opportunity, Darius decided, he'd have to show him. Let him fear for his life. It was all a traitor deserved.

Tea leaves, after all, were meant to be steeped.


End file.
